ColdBlooded Killer
by JuliaAtHeart
Summary: The story of Julian Sark. AU. New Chapter up. Please review. Looks like it will end up Sarkney, but I haven't totally decided.
1. The Beginning

**Cold-Blooded Killer**

**Author: **JuliaAtHeart**  
Timeline: **AU, set in season 4 before Echoes. Sark is in CIA custody.**  
Summary: **Sark recounts the way he became the cold-blooded Mr. Sark to Sydney. But why does she want to know all of a sudden?

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Alias, or anything close to it. All characters belong to JJ, except the ones I made up.

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The Beginning: Part One 

"On dark nights I think I was brought into this world to be a cold-blooded killer, but then I remember that isn't true. I was born as Julian Alexander Lazeray, to a gracious mother and a distant father. I wonder if my mother knew he son would someday kill hundreds." I stare across the table at her, but she doesn't respond.

"No, I don't suppose she did... my mother only saw the best in everyone. Perhaps her greatest fault. She would probably tell me that I could redeem myself, become a good man;" I shake my head but she still says nothing.

"But I know that to be false. The only time that I was ever a good person was when I was a child, before I became accustomed to the feel of a gun in my hand."

"I honestly don't know why I am telling you all this... perhaps because you are the first to ask... since Allison." I see her flinch at the name and her eyes have moved to study the floor intently. "Perhaps the question I should be asking is: why are you interested in a man that hasn't existed since for over two decades?"

This makes her look up, stare at me. And for the first time I don't see the hate I am so accustomed to. She is twisting a ring on her finger, but her eyes never leave mine. What is she looking for, has she found a way into my soul.

What has happened between us? Why aren't we exchanging insults, where has this peace come from? Whatever changed has me worried, I don't like to see Sydney so defeated.

"I don't believe he is gone..." she looks surprised by her own voice and then a guard interrupts us.

"Ma'am they are calling for you." She rises, straightening her jacket all though there are no creases to be found.

"Will you be back, shall you come to hear my tale of," I pause glancing up to her, meeting her eyes, "well, death, I suppose."

She pauses, waiting for the guard to open the door for her, "Yes."

As I am being led back to that familiar cell, I smirk. It is funny how that one word contained so much promise and hope. But underneath the hope is fear, fear that she will see beyond Mr. Sark, directly into Julian.

My smirk disintegrates, and I feel true terror of the journey I am about to embark on; the journey to my beginnings. To a place I haven't visited since Irina taught me to release the past. I forgot the past for one Derevko, and now I shall remember it for another.

The Beginning: Part Two 

Almost a week had passed before I am once again brought into the interview room. All throughout the week I have prepared myself to tell her the story of how I came to be a killer.

But when I am seated in front of her, her appearance shocks me into silence. Her right arm is secured to her side and there is obvious swelling on her shoulder. Her face makes me give a small gasp, her high cheekbones are bruised and no amount of makeup can hide the black eye and split lip.

I can tell it is the shoulder that gives her the most discomfort, perhaps it had been dislocated. My mind flashes to dozens of remedies that could help but all of them required physical contact. Hurt as she is I had no doubt she could still break my arm.

"Was it dislocated?" I ask motioning to her shoulder. Her head gives a quick nod, but I can see she is avoiding eye contact.

I want to help her, but that would mean acting as though I care. Do I care? Maybe I do because courage rises in me and I decide to take a step forward.

Slowly I slide my handcuffed hands onto the table and place my palms facing up, "Let me see your right hand," she hesitates, " I am not stupid enough to try anything," I assure her.

She obliges, though I can tell she isn't thrilled about it, and I feel her warm hand in my cold ones. They are covered in little scars, Irina once told me scars were marks of character.

I had many scars, each with its own story. Though my favorite scar was one she had given me, with an ice pick. If any scar possessed character it was that scar which snaked from my left knee down my calf.

How many scars had I given her? No matter where Sydney Bristow went, or who she became I would always be a part of her. That thought made me smirk, which made her uncomfortable, she knew I was scrutinizing her hands.

"Your mother taught me this," I say as I begin massaging different pressure points on her hand, "a old form of therapy. They say every part of the body can be controlled by the hands."

I feel her relax into my ministrations and she closes her eyes. I can feel her exhaustion and wonder who did this to her. Suddenly I wish I had been there, Sydney always has so much life while she fights. She makes her opponent feel inferior, just a blip on the radar.

I sigh, and continue the massage. Her hands are soft and delicate, odd that such lovely hands could kill. Again I look over her, examining the damage. Why is she sitting here? She should be in bed slipping coup and watching cartoons in flannel pajamas. With that my mind is made up.

"You should leave." My statement is crisp and I leave her hand on the table, moving mine to the safety of the lap.

I feel her stiffen but it is apparent her shoulder is better.

"Look, you are tired, hurt and should be in a hospital bed. You have asked me to tell you my story and I plan on doing so, but not on a day you look like you are dieing. So once again, go home!"

I instantly hate myself for letting her see I care, but it is too late for me to take it back, because she is rising to leave me.

Before she can disappear into her world I speak, "For another day, then?"

"Another day." That is all she says as she leaves me. The now familiar guard leads me to my plexi-glass cage and I am alone again. The only thing that remains of her brief visit are my warmed hands.

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The Beginning: Part Three 

When she summons me again it is two days later and I am now prepared to speak. I find her in the aluminum chair and she looks much better, almost whole again. I breathe in, and then the words come.

"I was born on October 18th 1978, so that makes me twenty-seven years old. My mothers name was Anna Julia Sark, or at least that was her alias; but I will get to that later. My father was Andrian Alexander Lazeray, who you probably know better than I."

She raises her head and stares at me, "I don't remember him. I don't remember anything from those years." She says this all so-matter-of-factly.

I nod, "I was born in Galway, Ireland." I sigh and rest my head on my hands, "but this tells you nothing you can't find out on your own. You asked me for the story, or reason I became who I am today. So I will take you to the day that changed my life forever."

And I embark on my tale and as I speak my mind takes the journey, back into the past.

A/N: Big Question: Why does Sydney want to know? 

**Anyway, so do you guys like it? If you liked it, please review! Thanks! **


	2. The Tale

**Cold-Blooded Killer  
**

**Author: **JuliaAtHeart**  
Timeline: **AU, set in season 4 before Echoes. Sark is in CIA custody.**  
A/N: **I hope you guys like it…. Please review… please…  
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The Tale: Part One 

"Julian Alexander Lazeray, if you do not climb from that tree this instant, I will be forced to confiscate your birthday gifts." Anna stood at the trunk of an old tree glaring into the sky, daring her son to defy her.

"Get Papa, and I will get down." And he was daring to defy her. But instead of marching steadily up the hill and back into the manor, Anna's glare softened and she began to climb the tree.

Even at thirty-two she was still as nimble as she had been in youth and the climb didn't weather her. But what did weather her, was the tears in her sons eyes.

"Julian, you know that if your father could be here he would. But he had to work." She was tired of having to explain Alex's absences to her son, hell; she was tired of having to explain them to herself.

She pulled her son into an embrace and ruffled his blonde hair, "Come on now, let's have a good birthday," she stared into his eyes, which were a mirror image of her own. "No more tears, after all not every seven year old boy gets a horse for his birthday."

At the mention of presents Julian's eyes lit up, "Really?"

"Have I ever done anything to make you doubt my word?" He shook his head his young face so very serious.

"So let us get down from this god forsaken tree and enjoy your favorite pancakes in the garden. What do you say, good plan?" He nodded and before she could even shift he had begun to climb down, jumping the last five feet.

"Race you to the house!" And he was off, running up the hill to the manor. Anna smiled and ran a hand through her blonde curls. That boy was destined for great things, if only Alex took the time to see it. At the thought of her much absent husband she repressed a scowl. The pure NERVE of that man, to miss his only child's birthday, bastard!

Oh she would give him an ears full when he came home, she might even throw the note at him, along with the fucking chocolates. She tried to calm down but the memory of that impersonal note drove her up the wall,

" Mr. Lazeray is sorry to inform you that he has been called away on business and would like to convey his best wishes for the birthday of young Mr. Lazeray."

The ass hadn't even has time to write it himself, had one of his half dressed secretaries write it up and send it with a box of candies.

She sighed and began the walk up the hill stopping once to pick a flower. It was late in the season for flowers, but Ireland always found a ways surprise her.

"Mama, come on. Or the pancakes will be cold!" She smiled, and jogged the last few yards, swooping up Julian into her arms. She hated to admit it, even to herself; but no matter how she bitched she wouldn't give this life up for the world. Not even Alex's cold manner, her love for him made no sense to her or anyone else for that matter, especially Irina.

"Come on, I smell pancakes and strawberry jam." Julian grinned and let out a youthful laugh.

"This is the best birthday ever!"

Breakfast was amazing, as was the day that followed. Anna held up her promise and Julian received a horse, whom he immediately dubbed Julius Caesar. Anna smiled at son as he saddled the mustang.

She had known he would love him, and chosen the horse for good temperament and his dark coat. The colt possessed pure perfection, and Julian had always valued perfection, even at a very young age; in that manner he was his fathers son.

They harnessed the horses, she on Jemma, her favored pinto. And Julian saddled a giddy Julius. "Remember, no one likes to be tied down too tight. Let him get used to the feel of the saddle before you continue." Julian nodded, and patted the side of Julius's neck.

The rest of the day was spent riding far into the vast Irish farmlands, pausing for lunch in a small village.

Ireland had a sense of the mythological, and Anna has always loved the feeling of magic. She watched her son, play in the tall grass. If only he could always stay this young and innocent. This world was so full despair; she wished she could protect Julian forever. Breathing in the chill night air, Anna called Julian and they rode again, only stopping to stare at the setting sun from a cliff, before turning homeward.

Julian, who was an expert rider, loved every minute. Laughing with childish glee one minute, and explaining his theory of world domination the next nothing could have upset him then. Anna listened intently and commented every now and then, but let Julian set the atmosphere and even participated in a race.

It was dusk before they reached the manor and as they rode up Anna sensed a change in the air. On the back veranda, dinner had been spread out lavishly and everything seemed in order, but at the entrance to the barn stood Irina Derevko.

Anna felt happy but confused, why would Irina be there? Had she come to wish Julian a happy birthday?

"Irina, it is good to see you." Anna called as she and Julian pulled up to the stables. She slipped off of her pinto and tied the horse to the post, watching Julian do the same.

Irina shifted uncomfortably eyeing Julian who glared with his fathers intensity, he didn't like having his celebration interrupted not even by Irina, to whom he looked for strength and the occasional guidance.

Anna began unsaddling Jemma as Julian called Carl to help him with Julius.

"Anna, we need to talk," she gave a glance to Julian and Carl, "right now."

Anna nodded and led Jemma further into the stable and into her stall, before beginning to groom her sweaty coat.

"What is it?" She asked in low tones.

Irina looked tired and had swelling on her jaw but she didn't hesitate to speak.

"Lazeray intercepted a communication from headquarters in Moscow; Sasha, he knows you and I are KGB. I have conformation that he has met with his partners in the Forum, my information tells me he has already killed Yura. We need to get you and Julian out of here; Lazeray won't spare you or him for that matter. You aren't safe here."

Anna was frozen, the brush hanging loosely at her side, horse forgotten. "But I haven't spoken to Yura since April. I quit, I told them I was through. Irina..." She paused and took a deep breath, "I can't leave my husband."

"Sasha, Alex isn't your husband!" Irina tired to keep the fury out of her voice! "He is your assignment, I know it is hard but we need to move, my people tell me he is headed back here. You need to put Russia first."

Anna or more correctly Aleksandra (Sasha) Constantinavna Bashmakova was shaking unable to stop. Irina grabbed her arms and gave her a squeeze. "We HAVE to go, now."

"NO, Alex will understand. I will stay and explain it to him. He has to understand, I love him," her voice had become quiet and there were unshed tears in her eyes.

There was a loud shriek of static and the portable radio at Irina's side began to speak, "Irina, target is approaching, ETA: 30 minutes. Get out of there."

"Sasha we need to go now!" But Sasha wasn't moving she was staring at the house, a broken woman.

"Sasha, I know you have the strength inside you to do this. I did it. I left Jack and... my daughter." Irina wouldn't say the name of her daughter; it was a wound that would never heal. "I am not asking you to leave Julian, but we need to go."

Sasha brushed a strand of lose curl behind her ear and took a deep breath. "I am going in to talk to him," before Irina could object Sasha continued, "I am set in my way. I love him and unless these last nine years have been false, my HUSBAND loves me. Irina, I am not you. I can't leave him. So I'll go inside and wait for him to come home. I need to get cleaned up anyways, I have been riding all day." She spoke softly, as though in a trance.

"What about Julian?"

"Keep him with you. I will call you tomorrow and send a car for him, OK?" She wasn't being rational, but Irina knew that short of knocking her out and dragging her, there was no way to get her to leave.

"Now let me say goodnight to Julian and the two of you can go. Oh and make sure he has a night-light, he is afraid of the dark."

What neither of the KGB trained women knew, was that a very confused Julian had over-heard everything in the adjacent stall. But when his mother and Irina walked in he hid his tears and pretended not to have heard a thing.

"Julian, I have done a very foolish thing and forgotten that one of your presents needs assembly, so tonight you will go with Irina. I shall work on it and see you in the morning, along with your father. Does this meet your approval?"

Julian longed to say no, to tell his mother to take him with her. But instead he just shook his head. His mother bent down and kissed his cheek and he wrapped his hands around her neck, grasping the gold medallion she always wore. When they parted the chain snapped and Anna looked puzzled and then eyed the broken chain. "Keep it safe for me!"

And with that she walked briskly out of the barn and into the night. Irina had observed all this with cold eyes, she saw the tear stained face and knew he had heard.

She bent down in front of the boy, "Julian I am not to be your friend, or your mother, I am your teacher. Do you understand me?" She was speaking in hushed tones, but he felt her intensity.

The scared little boy nodded and Irina held him by his arms, "Then tonight is your first lesson: Never let a foolish thing, like love, blind your instincts. If your mother had been thinking she would have know going in there was suicide, but she let emotion shroud her judgment."

"But she said I would see her in the morning..." Julian's bottom lip was quivering and tears threatened to fall down his cheeks.

"Your mother is dead, the sooner you accept it the sooner you can forget the past." Irina spared no time; she swung herself onto a fresh bay.

"Pick one, it will be the only thing you get to keep of your old life." Without even thinking Julian climbed onto Julius Caesar, his new Mustang. To Irina's surprise he dismounted and ran into a side stall, returning with saddlebags and three harnesses.

Irina was about to object but then understood his thinking; they would be riding a while, better to have saddles and supplies. He was already impressing her, Sasha had been right; Julian was no ordinary seven year old. Thinking of seven year olds brought Irina to the touchy subject of her own daughter, how old was she now? Ten or eleven? She shook her head and moved to help Julian.

"Carl harness and saddle the mare," he spoke with so much confidence for a young boy. He began re-saddling the mustang and directed Irina to another saddle for the bay. Once all three horses were equipped with saddles, harnesses and saddlebags Julian swung onto the Mustangs back and tied the pinto's lead to Irina's saddle.

"Ride outside to the bottom of the hill and wait for me, I will try on last time to get Sash... your mother." He nodded and rode.

She turned the horse and rode further into the stable stopping at Carl's office. She pulled out her gun, aimed and fired at the un-expecting man, the silencer made no noise. She didn't need Lazeray figuring out who had Julian and how they had gotten away, it was dangerous enough.

Then, Irina galloped to the house, not wanting to go inside but preparing herself anyway. There was no need, because Sasha sat on the veranda dressed in a lovely dress with a shawl on her arms. She sat calmly with a glass of wine in hand, like this was any other dinner, she was just a woman waiting for her husband to get home from a long days work.

"Sasha, come with us. I can hide you and Julian, you still have a choice."

But Sasha said nothing, just starred into the now dark sky. "No, I think I will wait for him, he hates eating alone."

Irina's radio buzzed, "He is pulling up."

"Sasha, do this for Julian, save yourself!"

"Irina, I'll see you tomorrow," she looked down at the table and saw a brightly wrapped box with a bow. Picking it up she tossed it and Irina caught it.

"Give it to Julian, it is from me for his birthday." And then she went back to her wine. Irina tucked the box away and rode hard and fast, to the bottom of the hill where Julian sat waiting for her.

"There was nothing I could do, she wouldn't listen." Irina starred at the little boy, who sat devoid of emotion, looking tired and drained.

"Can we stay to watch?" He asked in a low voice and she knew he was trying hard not to sob.

She was about to say 'no' when Lazeray walked onto the veranda. They didn't have a choice; while he was there they couldn't ride without calling attention to themselves. At the current moment they were hidden in a small clearing of trees, and with no moon they were practically invisible.

He sat, and Julian was mesmerized by the action, his parents were clearly illuminated by the lights from inside the house.

"Don't let your horse move, they can't see us. If we move they know where we are, and for the current moment we need to stay hidden." Julian nodded and held his reins tighter.

The action played out for them.

Lazeray walked to a chair and sat down and took a sip of wine. Sasha moved to say something; she sat straighter and motioned in the air. But he cut her off, and threw the glass into the window. Irina could hear screaming from both Lazeray and Sasha but couldn't make out the words. Then with no preamble Lazeray pulled out a gun and shot Sasha.

Julian gasped, but remained silent. Lazeray stood and poured himself a new glass of wine, then headed inside. This was their only chance, "Ride!"

They rode, over the countryside, up and down hills. Julian didn't complain but Irina knew he must be exhausted. After three hours they reached their destination. It was a small airstrip in the middle of nowhere. There sat a fueled private jet.

Irina said a small prayer to which ever god had protected them this far, and dismounted. A short disheveled man, who looked too old or drunk to be able to stand, met them. After exchanging the proper code phrases he lead them into a small back room, where Dorian sat waiting for her.

"Irina, it is good to see you again. I am happy I could be of service." His speech was strongly accented with Greek, and he looked a great deal older than she remembered.

"I need lodgings somewhere safe, and transport for three horses to my London Estate." She spoke flat out and to the point, Dorian owed her and he knew it, this was no favor.

"Of course, but where would you like to go? I have a place in Spain, Greece, even Brazil and Peru." He was now looking at Julian who was desperately follow this exchange, but having a hard time mainly because it was in Russian, of which he knew little.

"What about Morocco, or Egypt?" He pondered, but then looked at her happily.

"This is perfect I have a house in Alexandria that would suit you. I assume you will be departing right away?" Irina nodded and ran a hand through her knotted hair. She put a hand on Julian's back and led him to the plane.

As they climbed they stairs into the plane she asked, "Are you ready?" He turned and looked back at his horse and perhaps his past life, and hesitated.

Irina bent down and looked him in the eyes, "Lesson Two: Never hesitate, in this world it will get you killed."

"Are you ready?" She asked again.

"Yes!" And Julian didn't hesitate, or look back he walked onto the plane and into a different world.

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I look up and try to catch her eye, but she wouldn't look at me. "And that is how your mother came into possession of me... a twist of fate."

We sit in silence, both in our own worlds. With a loud beep I jump, but it is only her beeper, signaling the end of our time together.

"I want to hear more..."

"Well, I am most certainly not going anywhere."

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." And I am alone with my memories.

**TBC… soon! PLEASE review!**


	3. The Tale 2

**Cold-Blooded Killer**

**A/N:** Thanks for reviewing, I hope you guys like it.

**FYI:** This is a Sarkney story, but I don't have any Vaughn bashing.

**Disclaimer:** I only own my tooth brush and computer. Alias and its characters belong to JJ.

**The Tale: Part Two**

Sark sat on his steel bed, counting the tiles on the floor. Of course he knew that there where forty-seven tiles, but the process of counting had always calmed. It was a way to soothe, to rid him of his claustrophobia, the only way to remain in control of his mind.

He was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat, glancing up he saw Agent Vaughn, who seemed to be consumed with wrinkles on his forehead. Sark leaned against the wall, totally comfortable with remaining silent. He had nothing to say to this insufferable prat.

"If you think this gives you an inside to Sydney's life, you would be very wrong." Vaughn wasn't speaking, he was hissing.

"Is that a shred of jealously I hear in your voice. I am surprised; I would think you would be in control. After all you are a free man, and I am a caged animal." Sark interlaced his fingers, and smirked.

Vaughn was seething; Sark knew exactly which buttons press with Agent Vaughn.

"I find it marvelous that I have such control over you, from a glass cage. The satire is amazing, quiet entertaining." Sark was pushing it, and Vaughn was falling into the trap.

"You think you are so intelligent, ask yourself this, why Sydney wants to know?"

Sark grinned internally; Vaughn was letting his cards show. He was fishing, trying to see what sort of bond had been forged in his absence. "So I take it you don't have clearance to watch the sessions between Syd and myself." He made a point to emphasize her name. The comment had the preferred affect of the CIA officer; he turned and stormed out of the hallway.

In fact he stormed all the way to the OP's Center, right up to Sydney's desk where he glared at her, full force.

"What?" She looked up from her paperwork, confused to see her boyfriend so upset. "Is everything ok?"

"No, everything is not fine. I don't want you having anymore session with Sark!" Vaughn was being irrational.

Sydney rose and grabbed his arm, looking around to see if anyone had over heard. She dragged him into an interview room, closing the door firmly behind them, and then pulled out a pen, clicking it on.

"Vaughn, what the hell is wrong with you. That is classified information, which I only told you as a courtesy. And now, you're running around screaming at me, hell, half of APO heard you." She breathed deeply and tired to calm down.

"Syd, I didn't mean to lose control. I just don't understand why you choose this assignment! I don't understand how you can sit in the same room as him and not want to kill him!" He wasn't meeting her eyes; he looked past her to the back wall.

She sighed, taking his hand in hers, "Vaughn, what I don't understand is why YOU feel threatened by Sark." She caressed his face, placing a soft kiss on his lips; he starred into her eyes, still sullen. "I need you to trust me. I can't with good conscious just let this go. I want to know what happened to Sark, I want to give a chance to be a good person."

He was still unhappy, but wrapped his arms around her. "I just don't want you to get attached, at the end of the week the result will be the same." He paused, cupping her face and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I have no idea what Sloane was thinking by agreeing to this."

Leaning into Vaughn Sydney relaxed, "He was thinking, everyone deserved a chance for confession." It was barely a whisper, more to herself than to Vaughn; she needed to convince herself of what she was doing. In her heart she knew it was more than just a chance to confess for him, it was a chance for her to see into her own past, her motherless past.

Sydney understood that if Irina had taken her along when she had left, that she would most likely be standing here with Sark, and Vaughn would be in the one in the cage. The frightening thing was that she didn't know which life she would have preferred.

The high pitched beep of the pen brought them apart, and she smiled at him, "Lunch?"

"Sure. You want me to get Nadia and Weiss?" She gave a quick nod, and they strode out of the room together.

"Hey, I'll be right back, ok?" She hoped he wouldn't ask where she was going. He smiled and headed to Weiss who was laughing with Nadia.

Sydney strode to her desk and pulled out a brown paper sack; and headed towards the containment cells. The guards cleared her and the sack, and she began to walk down the corridor to his cell.

Sark was sitting on the floor in a meditative pose her mother had so often used. "Brought you some lunch."

He looked up and awarded her with a smile, "I was getting tired of the same old thing. So what's for lunch?"

She smiled her first genuine smile all day. "Let's see, I have a thermos of Russian broshe, chicken sandwich, and some potato salad, all homemade."

He smiled wider, "May I ask how you know my favorite foods?"

She stopped and the smile left her face, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Because they are my favorites too. I guess that's mom for you, always making the same stuff."

"Thank you, I know this isn't typical CIA procedure. I appreciate…"

"You don't need to thank me; I just wanted to do something nice." With that she passed the food through a tray portal, and he picked it up on the other side.

"Sorry there isn't a fork, but I did get you a spork." She smiled apologetically.

"Not a problem, sporks are far more fun." He sat and opened the soup, taking a spoon full.

"Just like your mothers…" she nodded.

"She taught me how to make it when I was little, and then I had her recipes box… well I should get going. Nadia is waiting for me." He smiled.

"I'll see you later."

"Ok." Sydney left and returned to her world.

Jack stood in the security room, watching the feed from Sark's cell. This wasn't good; Sydney was getting attached to Sark. She would have a hard choice to make; he wished he could make it for her.

He walked out and headed for Sloane's office.

He poked his head into the room, "Arvin, you needed to talk to me?"

Sloane raised his eyes and motioned Jack inside, "Do you think everything is alright?"

"Yes, why?"

"I am worried about Sydney; she seems to be getting attached to Sark. I think we should stop her visits to him, I don't want her to be hurt." Sloane sat, fingers locked together.

"Arvin, this was her idea. I think we should let her do it, if that is what she wants."

Sloane reclined in his chair, glazing at a picture of Nadia, which adorned his desk. "I don't understand your reluctance; you of all people should know that this is an unnecessary risk."

"How is this situation a risk? Sydney knows what she is doing, and it is time for her to make her own decisions."

"What do we do if she decides she can't abide by the courts decision?" Sloane sounded worried.

"I believe it is time to let Sydney make her own choices. She has been in this spy world for many years, and it is time to let her do as she wants. If she chooses to leave APO after Saturday then I will support her, if she wants to remain here I will try to help her. Maybe she can become a handler, or analyst; after the last bout of injuries she confided in me that she is ready to leave. All I can do it support her, and I hope you agree with me on that!" Jack moved in the chair, trying to sound confident. But in truth he was just as worried as Sloane was. He didn't know how Sark's fate would affect his daughter.

"Fine, I won't interfere but I will monitor it carefully." Sloane motioned with his hand and Jack rose to leave.

"Thank you Arvin, I won't forget this. If you or Nadia ever need anything just ask."

"Jack I am not doing this as a favor to you. Believe it or not I want Sydney to be happy; I would protect her as my own daughter. You don't owe me anything." Sloane didn't look up, just starred at his daughter's picture.

**A/N**: Do you guys like it? Please review.


	4. The Birth of Mr Sark

A/N: Ok let me say a HUGE I'm sorry, because I haven't update in forever. Also this chapter is the Sark story, but the story will get Sarkney in following chapters!!!

**The Birth of Sark**

When the familiar guards opened the door to his cell, Sark sat upright and waited for them to manhandle him to the interview room, but they didn't step inside. Instead the burly and slightly overweight guard, whom he had named Bob, stepped aside and Sydney strolled into his small cell.

She caught his eye and held it for a moment as she waited for another guard to bring her a chair, "thought you might be more comfortable here…" then she settled down, in arms reach from him and waited.

"I didn't think you would be coming today," his voice was soft but the confined space magnified it in the silence.

"Why?"

Sark grinned and a little of his old smirk emerged on his face, "Agent Vaughn seemed to think that he could put a stop to our… conversations." He was mocking Vaughn and she knew it, but with the way Vaughn had been acting recently she couldn't call up any anger.

"He shouldn't have talked to you; it was a breach of protocol." She tried not to sound too disapproving, but Sark could hear it and it puzzled him to a certain point. If he wasn't mistaken there was trouble in paradise, the kind of trouble that was accompanied with jealously and unhappiness.

"Well in any case, I believe I left off as Irina and left for Alexandria." He sounded relaxed, nonchalant to a degree, but internally he was dreading bringing back those years that followed Ireland and the death of Sasha.

* * *

Eyes closed and hands clasped together Irina sat in a generously furnished library at the heart of Alexandria. Surrounded by books and solitude she could think about the unfortunate position that Sasha had put her in. 

The life that she had so unwillingly given up for her country, the one with Jack and Sydney, were wounds that had only recently begun to heal, and now the presence of another child in her home brought back the pain. Slowly she rubbed her palms together and tried to think of a plan, a way to turn the presence of Julian into a positive aspect.

Considering her situation, she decided to grasp onto what she had told Julian in the stable, she was to be his teacher and nothing more. Of course she could mother him, in fact that was an instinct that she had fought all the way across the Mediterranean as he lay curled in a ball shaking with sobs. But mothering a young boy would not produce what she desperately needed, and that was a second in command.

Set in her resolve she breathed a sigh of relief and picked up the phone that lay on the table, dialing the appropriate numbers she contacted people that could find her reliable tutors, and a housekeeper to keep the house in order.

Glancing at the clock she saw that it was already past 3 in the morning, and as every night before she went to sleep she reached to her briefcase, and pulled out a folder marked with the date of the previous week. Inside were a group of ten photographs, all of the same two people.

Sydney had grown even taller and was entering the awkward pre-teen stage of adolescence; her hair was longer and pulled back into a braid as she danced at her ballet recital. Other pictures were similar and the ones of Jack featured a man that Laura Bristow had never known. He always looked grim and when she heard reports of his constant missions away from Sydney it hurt her on some level, the knowledge that her daughter was so alone and that it was largely her fault.

As she brushed her fingers over her daughters face, she noticed Julian standing at the door to the library. His face was puffy, she knew without any doubt that he had been crying and he looked entirely miserable in an oversized bathrobe.

"I'm afraid of the dark." It was barely a whisper from Julian's lips, but it penetrated every corner of the library.

Trying to convince herself that being firm would only benefit him in the future, Irina slid the photographs back into the envelope silently and then looked into his blue eyes coldly.

"That is an irrational fear that you will get over tonight… Julian, do you understand me?" Standing stiffly from her chair she walked over to him and crouched to be at his eye level.

"Your fears give our enemies tools to use; if you fear something, it can be exploited to kill you. Now, go to your room and go to sleep… without the light." His lip was quivering and every atom of his being hated Irina for her cold response.

"But, my mother…" that was all he got out, before her hand streaked across his face in a slap, reddening his cheek and causing tears to well up in his eyes again.

"Sasha is dead because she was stupid and afraid. Never talk back to me and never forget I am not your mother, and I will not coddle you." Rising and taking him by the arm she led him back to the bedroom she had allotted to him.

It was a large room that was decorated with an Italian flourish by a designer that had imagined the room for an older resident, not for a small seven year old boy. Furnished with a sitting area, fireplace, large wardrobe, small library, private bathroom and a queen bed; the room had a positively haunted feeling in the dark.

But, Irina set in her ways, walked through the room and removed every single light bulb and candle, leaving Julian sitting on the oversized bed in the dark, tears streaming down his face, as he prayed that his mother would come and hold him through the night.

* * *

Anna Lazeray, or rather Sasha Bashmakova, never came and Julian Lazeray began his long transformation into Mr. Sark. 

This metamorphosis began with the arrival of Professor Grigoriy Yurivic, an aged man who had been the one to discover Irina Derevko in her youth and was now retired and bored. A combination that had led him to accept the job of teaching espionage fundamentals to Julian in a heartbeat.

The professor had lived in the glory days of the KGB and Julian's first years in the house in Alexandria were filled with lessons of linguistics, history, physical combat, current events, and, above all, intrigue.

With Irina being gone for weeks or months at a time, the three years Julian spent with the Professor went quickly and the foundations for the spy-world were created. Most days followed the same patterns; mornings were dedicated to studies of Russian, French, Spanish, German, Japanese, Farsi, and Italian. After that the rest of the day would be divided between physical training and history/current events lessons.

During that time the Professor taught Julian about all the organizations that he had information on, and towards the end of the third year he begun an intensive study of weaponry. All of the talents Julian acquired were tested constantly by Irina, who, in the three years had purposefully not warmed to Julian, and constantly sent him out on small tasks to challenge him.

And things would have continued to progress this way had Irina not found a way inside The Forum, a Rambaldi organization run by Andrian Lazeray.

As Julian came in from his morning run, almost three years to the day of his arrival in Egypt, he was shocked to see Irina standing in the front hall as the maid and housekeeper directed men around the house, some packing and others covering furniture with white sheets. Puzzled he wiped sweat off his brow and approached Irina, taking the bottle of water she offered.

"What is going on?" He tried to keep curiosity out of his voice, because it would be a sign of weakness to show that he had been caught off guard.

Irina smiled at him, and then motioned for him to follow her into the study. Once inside she moved to gather papers off her desk and then turned to face Julian. "We are moving to London."

"I don't understand, I thought that it was too dangerous because of Lazeray." Julian tried as much as possible to say that name with calm, but that was asking a bit too much.

Irina smirked and then picked up a file and turned it over in her hands, "This contains everything we need to destroy Lazeray and even The Forum…"

With that Julian nodded and walked upstairs to pack his clothes and books, and a quick look into the Professors room confirmed that he had already been sent away. For a moment he felt alone again, but then the fire of future revenge fueled him.

Upon arriving in London a new form of schooling began. During the week Julian attended a boarding school near Cambridge, but weekends were spent training with Irina. As he grew he learned more about why they were in London, discovering that The Forum was based in Paris and that two of the most prominent members lived in London.

Irina's plan was complicated and was based on the fact that Lazeray would do almost anything to learn about things called, "The Chosen One" and "The Passenger", both of which dealt with Rambaldi and his prophecies.

Life continued much the same way until Julian reached his seventeenth birthday that was the year when Irina first sent him to LA to take pictures of a young girl who resembled her in many ways.

"This is a recon mission. In other words: Don't get caught because I wont be able to help you. Just take the pictures and get back on the plane. Do you understand?" Irina was grinding her teeth but Julian nodded, his eyes the usual icy blue.

"It will be taken care of." Years of training in linguistics had left him with a seemingly sophisticated British accent that hinted something of a Mediterranean background.

Irina nodded and he left her alone in her rooms of the London estate. After this, if he return unscathed, he would be ready to join her in the organization she had built. The years of impartiality towards him and coldness had created the perfect agent. He was cold, calculating and incredibly loyal to her, with no ties to the outside world.

Sending him to take pictures of Sydney was a test to see if he could keep her biggest secret, and in most cases the secret that she guarded from everyone else.

Thankfully Julian didn't disappoint because he was back in three days with two rolls of Sydney at UC Berekley, and Irina was ready for his final test.

"Tomorrow we end The Forum."

"Can I be of use?" He didn't even lift his eyes from the computer, where he was attempting to hack into the CIA office in LA where documentation of a new series of high powered guns were being analyzed.

"Actually I was hoping you would take care of some loose ends for me." She slid a file across the counter and he picked it up flipping through the pages.

"Uncle Boris?"

Irina smiled, "I wasn't sure you would remember him, he used to hang around Lazeray at the house when you were young. But in reality he is not your uncle, he is the money-man for the Forum," she paused and looked into cold blue eyes, "kill him."

Julian set down the file and turned back to his computer calmly, "I'll take care of it tonight."

"Good."

Finishing his task on the laptop, he stood and stretched his 5'11 frame, then headed to his rooms. Only when he was alone did he let out the breath he had been holding, and let his shoulders sag. It had to be done, there was no doubt in his mind that he would follow through with it but it still weighted on him.

Moving to a drawer beside his bed he took out a worn copy of War and Peace in the original Russian and opened it to the tarnished medallion he taken from his mother that night. Turning it over in his palm he pocketed it and walked to his weapons cabinet, pulling out his favored Glock, and putting it in the same pocket.

That night he shot 'uncle Boris' in the head and walked away smirking with eyes frozen to the core. On his way home he considered life and when he arrived home, faced Irina and told her that from that moment on he was to be known as Julian Sark, never Lazeray.

"I understand." It was all she needed to say.

That was the night when Sark was born as the second in the army of 'the Man', reporting only to Irina.

But Sark didn't show up on the Alliance briefing until four years later, when he delivered a very public message to the FTL, specifically Quan Li, from 'the Man'. The same day he appeared on the SD-6 debrief that Sydney attended.

* * *

"And I believe that brings us full circle." Sark looked up from his hands into Sydney's confused gaze. 

"'I'm sorry."

He smirked again and looked at her with all the intensity that had been building during the hours she had listened to him talk, "I'm not."

"But, whatever our sentiments on my story that doesn't concern me at the moment, as much as something else does. You see, I have been sitting here trying to figure out why. Why do you care about any of this?" He was tired of all the pretenses and trusted Sydney to tell him the truth.

"A special committee ruled that you should be executed for you crimes in five days, that was three days ago."


End file.
